


Reviens toujours jamais probablement

by Gallavantula



Series: Ghost prompts [6]
Category: Ghost - Mystery Skulls (Music Video)
Genre: Blood, M/M, Mentions of Suicide, Self Harm, Soulmate AU, mentions of self harm, tattoo soulmate au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-07
Updated: 2015-02-07
Packaged: 2018-03-11 00:15:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3308510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallavantula/pseuds/Gallavantula
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is an AU in which Soulmates are a very real thing, and injuries, wounds and scars are temporary marks that will surface on the body of your significant other, but Tattoos remain permanently. </p>
<p>It's a story in which Arthur, in his darkest moments is reached with a message from his other half, and this is how they meet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reviens toujours jamais probablement

**Author's Note:**

> Prize fic for my winning follower, GreaseMonkeyCoward! A big thank you to your support!

It feels like an eternity, sitting on the curb of the hospital to wait. The adults are huddled together on the bench right beside the moving doors. He can hear her crying, cupping her face as his father rubs her back. He feels like she’s crying because the ordeal has been hard on her, the intruder to their incomplete family, and Arthur’s okay with that. She’s the reason his mom is dead, his family is broken. She’s a hefty line healing on his arm beneath the bandages from the lovely nurse. She had looked heartbroken, her heart shaped face pleading his to admit something was wrong, to get him away from this, even for three nights.   With his father over her shoulder, looking him down with distaste, disdain, disappointment… Arthur only mentioned his other arm needed looking at too. Once everything checked out, everyone was okay and things ‘fixed’, he was signed out, and here they are. Waiting for Arthur’s Uncle to pick him up. His father murmured something to his girlfriend, her sobs quieting down and the silence was nearly unbearable. Please, Uncle. Hurry. Arthur’s rubbing at his wrists, though it hurts, though it burns, he wishes he had his armbands. He wishes his stupid dad’s girlfriend hadn’t come home early that day. He wishes that he’d died in that tub, leaving all this bullshit behind. Arthur wishes for a lot of things, and the sobs start up again behind him. 

It’s maybe another fifteen minutes before the dusty, patched up Pick-up pulls into the parking lot, swerving and nearly hitting the island in the centre of the entry, before pulling up harshly in front of Arthur’s feet. The young boy barely flinches, but he can hear his Uncle exit the car, slam the door and take quick steps around the front. Arthur’s vision sees an angry, red face before he can move and it’s grabbing his shirt, yanking him up without effort and terror is spiking through his chest.   

“What in the blazes were you bloody fuckin’ thinkin’??” The older man shouts, and Arthur’s only feeble defence is raising his wrapped arms as a shield before him, trembling as his uncle’s eyes lock onto the patches of blood already seeping through. He must have reopened some of the wounds. Lance’s face is lethal, nearly turning blue beneath the eyes and the creased thick brows and Arthur feels like he’s staring death in the face.

  “Lance, calm down.” His brother calls, already by his side and patting the man’s shoulders. “I’ve already given him a talk.”   Lance is shaking, Arthur can feel it through the tight folds of his shirt and he can barely keep his feet on the ground. It hurts, it hurts a lot, not nearly as much as carving into his arms but no, not his Uncle. Not like this, it’s far, far worse. His hand trembles as he releases his grip, and Arthur’s suddenly standing on his own weight and stumbles back. Immediately his eyes shoot to the ground, folding in on himself like he wants to disappear and Lance hisses through his teeth, turning to pat his brother on the shoulder and points a finger at him.

  “Pack everything he’s got in boxes, garbage bags, I don’t care. I’ll pick it all up in the morning.” Lance affirms next, taking his brother’s hand and shaking on it like they made a business deal. Arthur’s stomach turns over, and he hunched forward but he swore he wasn’t going to puke. His dad’s girlfriend comes over and pulls him into a hug, the tattoo of a celtic cross that was the same as his father’s obscuring his vision and Arthur’s swallowing the puke in the back of his throat.

“It’s for the best sweetie, I promise.” Her creme brulée voice skitters around in his head like dropped beads and he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want her near him, and her petting hand makes him wish to cut it all off his head. Once she’s done she sniffles like this is hurting her to do and she’s drawn into her boyfriend’s arms, her hand coming to rest on the same mark on his arm like it’s a reassurance to her. Arthur glances up just for a moment and the judgment in his father’s eyes is there. Neither make a move to greet one another.

  “Get in the FUCKIN’ truck.” Lance bellows from the other side of the vehicle, and Arthur dips his head before walking over to the door and popping it open. Grabbing the handle above, he swings himself inside, pulling the door closed beside him and wincing at the pain in his arms. Lance has his door slam hard into the frame and the truck shakes beneath his wobbly knees, starting the engine with a sharp turn and smashing his palm against the radio. The music blares and shudders like the wires had been jumbled before it settles on some rock song from the 70’s. Lance is clutching the gear shift, putting it into drive and his foot’s on the pedal. Arthur’s struggling to get his seat belt on, his body feeling hollow and shaky, a glass case being transported in the roughest conditions. 

They don’t talk, Lance doesn’t spare a single glance his way as they drive ten over the speed limit. Arthur’s head, for once in his life, is quiet. No poison leaks out, no ill advised words telling him to die or to take himself out of the picture. No mention of his worthlessness, his cowardice. Somehow, this makes him feel even worse, alone and fragile. It has him question if Lance will beat him, like his father has, and the idea of his amazing, loving Uncle laying a hand on him this way makes Arthur feel so dirty just for thinking it. How dare… he tarnish the image of his immaculate, caring Uncle.   Curling his arms despite the pain and tension, around himself, he starts to question his future. What was in store for him now? His father… clearly, this was their way of kicking him out and putting him somewhere out of reach. Arthur was the burden and he’s made Lance’s situation worse. He was already struggling to keep the shop floating, keeping his business from flunking out and having to ask his brother for financial support, and instead his brother has thrown him another hole. 

Arthur’s nearly in tears, curling in on himself before he notices the truck slow. And stop.   He looks up, blinking the moisture in his eyes and they’re at a Tim’s. Right. It was… probably after ten pm at this point. Arthur turns over, preparing to hunch away and let Lance just… be when the man puts a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. He’s already flinched and looking up at him with wide eyes, fearing the worst but… the scruff on his uncle’s face only makes him look gaunt. The grey hairs… are far more noticeable now.   

“Hot chocolate good for you, kid?” His gruff voice is so, so soothing to his ears and the younger man nods eagerly. His Uncle turns, leaning out the window of his truck and pattering the bass line against the door. It was… so casual and common that Arthur felt thrown off by it.   “Hey, Large Hot Chocolate, half milk, medium decaf, half french vanilla.” With that, Lance is back inside the truck, fishing through one of his cup holders for coins and he’s counting out six dollars in change before driving up to the window. Arthur’s boggled that the older man clearly remembers his favourite drink, and the guilt of why he was there that night strikes him in the face like a thorny vine. They receive their cups, the late night drive-through guy receives a cute tip and they are driving off again onto the quiet, late night roads. Scarcely will other vehicles drive by, depending on the late night route and Arthur feels thankful that he can fade back, sipping on the heat of his drink.   His Uncle lives on the far side of town above the garage he owns, so it’s another music only drive. Arthur’s heart lurches at the thought of losing his hamster, and then his chest thuds as a horrid reminder. He’d… almost left it all behind. 

Even Galahad. He’d nearly… Shoulders slumped, he fights with every fibre of his being not to cry, not to tear up and make himself a mess in front of his Uncle. He’s deserved this. He’s fucked up and made a mess of things. His chest is hollow, throbbing with how cavernous he feels and the hot chocolate isn’t helping anymore, so he leans down to cup it.   Before long, they’re pulling into the driveway, hitting the one dip in the road and rocking the frame of the vehicle before curling around the building to park in the back by the stairs. Arthur’s reaching for the door handle, wishing to get this over with when suddenly the lock drops down and the car clicks to alert him that it was locked. His hand hovers there, shaking with tension he hadn’t felt since earlier that day and his organs all sag into the bottom of his torso. Shit.   

“Arthur.” Lance huffs, like he too, feels the suffocating tension of the cab. The young man owes his Uncle so much, far more than he can ever pay back and turns in his seat. The slide puts him against the door, as far away from the older man as possible as he works the courage he has just to bring his eyes up. His Uncle is braced against the steering wheel, his big arms curled around the grip and his knuckles are changing hue from how tight it’s being held. There’s a blade in Arthur’s throat and he can’t swallow it. 

“Yes, Uncle Lance…?” His small, weak voice barely reaches over the radio, and Lance easily flicks it off to show that he noticed. Fuck. Not in the truck. Please. Arthur’s hands clutch to the seat belt as it clicks and comes free from the buckle, stuttering to breathe and his shirt is already sticking to his back. Anything but this from his Uncle, please, please.

  “We’re going to talk about this, because your Father may be more concerned about his fuckin’ books than his own flesh an’ blood, but I’m not.” Lance starts with deliberate control, eyes hovering over the shed in the back. Arthur’s so very thankful that he’s not being stared down at, not yet. As soon as he’s thought it though Lance turns to look over at him, and seeing the look in the older man’s eyes… Arthur’s so disarmed. He feels like Lance is pleading with him, his eyes searching his own with small shifts between each to read him.

 “Your more than just my nephew, Arthur.” He starts, hanging his head and running his fingers through his hair before smashing his hand on the steering wheel in a small outburst of frustration. Arthur’s curling in as best as he can, because he’s seen escalated violence, he’s seen where being the target can get him and he doesn’t want Lance to go down this path.   

“I-I’m sor-“ Arthur starts with a panicked tone, urgently wanting this to be over and calmly retreat into the guest room to work on inflating his mattress but Lance’s on him in a second, grabbing his collar and that’s it, Arthur thinks. The end is here. He’s going to be beaten and- he’s pulled into Lance’s strong flat chest and arms are curling around him. Stiff like a board Arthur refuses to move at all, even as Lance’s breathing shifts and hitches, and it’s only when he feels soft, little spots of moisture on his back that it truly dawns on him that his Uncle; strong, unbeatable, durable, weathered Lance is crying. Over a brat like him. 

“Arthur, no.” Lance shakily breaths, strangely shifting his head against Arthur’s and it’s a moment before he can even realize that it’s a nuzzle. Arthur’s throat betrays him and it makes the strangest little warble but… Such affection, for him? “I love you, I care that you are ‘ere.” He continues, bringing a hand up to caress Arthur’s head and Lance tucks him in closer, pulling him up from the seat to encompass his whole. It’s overwhelming, being so close to someone else that Arthur’s breathing is bad, but he also realizes belatedly that he’s also crying which does not help. When was it the last time that he was told that he was loved? Needed?

 “L-Lance…” Arthur mewls, lost and so uncertain but Lance gives a heaving breath in response and he feels like this might be okay.   “I ‘ave watched you growin’ up, I ‘ave seen you suffer and done nothing. Now, I’m makin’ an appropriate change.” Lance’s subdued voice continued, calming a little from that display of emotion and Arthur’s expecting him to school it, pretend it has never happened like it always happens whenever Lance has made a show of his emotions. Instead, his Uncle sits up, arms on both of his shoulders and looks into his face with genuine emotion and sadness. 

 “‘m not lettin’ your father keep ya. Clearly you’ve been isolated for so long you’ve thought yourself needless. I’m ‘ere to make sure you never feel that again.” There’s so much ferocity, anger but the words, they are a promise. Arthur feels his tears streaking down the rim of his nose and around the nostril, curling into his jawline and over his chin but there’s nothing to tell him to wipe it away. 

  “W-why…?” Is his tiny voice, sniffling once as his Uncle, his amazing, smart, witty Lance cracks a slack smile that only really touches his jaw but it’s so… him. The man he’s always looked up to. 

  “You’re more than just my nephew, Arthur.” Lance repeats like it explains everything, and Arthur’s not getting it with a dumb expression on his face. So the older man cradles Arthur’s face between his palms, shaking him a little and pressing their foreheads together. “You’re nearly my son. And everything I’ve worked for, to get you to school and to inspire you to work with what you love…” Then, it clicks.  Then, Arthur remembers how Lance was the one to teach him programming and basic welding, how his dad always deferred to Lance for driving him around for extra curricular activities and bringing him to friend’s houses. Really, it’s been Lance that’s taken care of him, been there for him all this time and played the real role of mentor in his life. Arthur breaks, sobbing outright and his hands fist into Lance’s work shirt to cling to the one person who seemed to understand. Lance’s pets over his face with his palm, trying to clear his cheeks before he realizes that his nephew isn’t going to just up and be okay again. 

So he drops his hands, draws the young man into his arms and shields him from the harsh world. Gently, he circles his thumb into his Nephew’s back as he buried his little face and released his anguish, his sadness. Lance is there, solid and warm and murmurs soft words into his ear, assuring him that now things would only get better. They sit like that, together in the truck in total silence. Arthur’s frame trembles and he fears falling apart like a rusted puppet, but his Uncle gathers him up again, bringing a hand to trace along Arthur’s arm, and the little guy is terribly afraid of what his Uncle might say, trying to jerk it away but the firm hold stings enough to stop him. 

  “I want you to promise me.” Lance starts softly, bringing his thumb over the bloodied patch like he’s really thinking about what they’ve meant for Arthur. “I want you to make an oath to me, that you’ll never do this again.” Arthur’s heart curls in and he feels anguish. How. How is he supposed to stop, when this is what’s kept him together? What’s forced his thoughts to relinquish their hold when he’s in pain.

  “Lance, I…” He squeaks, and the older man brings Arthur’s arm up to his face and rests his cheek against it. The act, just seeing Lance so… tender to his wounds is like realizing that this is what parental love could be like. Should have been like. Not an ignorant, forgetful father like his own.   

“I’m not asking you to hide, to keep your problems to yourself.” Lance takes up once it’s clear Arthur can’t work out the words. “I’m asking instead of marring your skin with something that can not be undone to mark me instead.”   Arthur’s jerking, trying to retreat when the mental image of bringing a blade to Lance’s skin burns his tongue like he’s bitten it and his head throbs with revulsion. How could he ever do something like that to his Uncle?? The older man is holding Arthur fast, waiting out the tension with a heavy silence that is like sitting in a boiling pot, having realized too late that it was too hot to handle. Arthur’s breathing becomes erratic for a moment, trying to calm himself down and Lance works to pull him back into his personal space bubble. 

  “I know what I said sounds crazy, Arthur. That’s why you cannot resort to cutting again. Understand?” Lance’s eyes bore into Arthur’s with such heat and intensity that the young man fears melting into a puddle from how slick his skin is becoming. He’s afraid that something more will come, despite every indication that it hasn’t, and won’t. Lance leans in to kiss Arthur’s wrist and it’s another slap in the face from something he hadn’t had in his life that could have changed everything, prevented this moment from happening at all.  

“Y-Yes.” Is the automated response, soft but alert. Arthur’s certain that he can find some other method. Maybe. Finding alternatives is what the internet was good for, right? Just… going to do some research. Lance sighs softly, guiding Arthur’s hands into his lap before squeezing his hands carefully.   

“I want to show you something, but you must promise that you cannot and will not tell anyone. Capiche?” He asks with all seriousness, and Arthur’s throat is lacerated with bile and soreness. He doesn’t want to swallow but he manages to with a relative struggle. And nods, once, slowly, then twice. His Uncle releases his hands, scooting to the furthest corner of his truck and unties the arms strung into a knot around his waist. Arthur’s mind is spinning, watching with weird abject horror as his Uncle pushes down the zip and, pushes his pants down. Arthur’s ready to scream, mind already jumping to hundred of rape scenarios that he’s heard about like horror stories and he’s leaning into the back of the truck. If his Uncle moves for him he swears he’ll..! 

  “It’s like… a family curse, I fear.” Lance mumbles, like he’s not entirely wanting to be aware of what was occurring but he’s tugging the pants down to his knees on his right leg and Arthur’s going to shout at him with obscenities and demands for release but instantly he can see the whites and raised skin… and those thoughts are completely gone. Starting an inch above the man’s knee cap and going beneath his boxers were perhaps dozens upon dozens of tiny, tell tale scars. It curled down his skin, making Arthur’s face pale to green at the thought that perhaps it goes all around like an advertisement wrapper.

  “We’ve been dealt a shitty hand, this I know.” Lance fumbles next, raising a hand to bring his fingers over the skin, counting each row with a deliberate hand and Arthur’s leaning in with silent tears streaking his face. This… was far worse than Arthur’s wrist ‘book notes.’   

“L-Lance…” Arthur mutters with horror, and his Uncle hangs his head like the world just settled at the nape of his neck.

  “I’ve been there too. I can do my best to understand you. You just have to let me try.” As his hand travels closer to his boxers, parting to drop to his side Arthur notices a tattoo, neatly dissected and nearly covered save for it’s colour. Arthur’s good at making out shards of images and putting them back together, and he can tell it was a heart with some thorns around the edges to perhaps make it bleed, and two names carved inside that he’d need a searching glass to read. Beyond all that however, Arthur’s heart feels like it may shatter in two from seeing this sacred piece, faded as it has. He knows this is Lance’s soulmate’s mark, and the fade means they have passed.

  “Oh Uncle…” Arthur warbles softly, wrapping his arms and flinching from the pain but he holds his Uncle. The man shimmies up his pants, trying to keep this moment tender and nuzzles his face into the younger man’s hair. “I’m sorry I never said, I’m sorry I kept it-“ But Lance pats his shoulder suddenly and stops him short. 

  “This is the heaviest secret to carry, Arthur. I understand. Now it’s time to just let go, and start anew.” He replies instead, ruffling Arthur’s hair and pulling up to zip his pants and wriggle them over his ass to be tied. The young man feels like this is the moment that ends the first one. There’s nothing left to be said, he thinks, and his Uncle’s warm expression is enough to reassure him that if need be he can bring it up again.   

“So… Anything I need to talk about..?” Arthur ventures out to say, twiddling his fingers lightly as he tested the waters. Lance grinned, ruffling the top of his head like he was still ten and wearing bandaids over the bridge of his nose and the older man laughs softly with such warmth and affection that Arthur might cry again. 

 “Anything at all.” Is the reply, and that’s that. Lance unlocks the truck, grabbing his keys and jumping out. Arthur’s trapped for a few moments, tears in his eyes as he dwells on this change, this potential new branch he was beginning to scale and followed his Uncle out once the car horn beeped from the remote. He’s shuffling quietly up the stairs behind Lance, helping keep the grill up for Lance to unlock and they enter the small, two bedroom apartment together. The night then becomes nearly routine, Lance setting up the inflatable mattress with the promise of a new, solid wood framed one within a week, and Arthur went to the washroom to brush his teeth, wash his face and cry by himself for a little while. 

  Once done, Lance has left a mug of hot chocolate by the door and gone to sit in his chair to unwind in front of the tv. There’s another hug and small soothing talk before Arthur’s taking himself to the borrowed room. He wonders where Lance is going to stuff all his junk, if this was going to become his room for a temporary stay or… if he could really live here. Shoving the boxes against the wall and putting the Key tar back into it’s case, Arthur busies his head with small tasks before winding up sideways in the bed and sipping his drink. Outside in the night sky he can see the stars flickering far over in the distance, after the strange light blue from the illuminated city could no longer obscure them. It was beautiful, like they had come out just for him to count and before he’s fully aware, his eyes have slid shut and his breathing slows down considerably. 

It’s perhaps two hours later that his door is quietly pulled open and Lance peeks in his head to see if he was asleep. A soft exhale affirms it for him and he shuffled across the floor, kneeling into the mattress to tug on his nephew’s vest, tossing it aside before guiding the young man to lie down. Then he grabs the sheets and throws them over, tucking him in with delicate motions of his massive hands and Arthur’s shifting into the comfort. Lance is smiling, softly, his heart stabilizing from his concerns. He didn’t… want Arthur to be alone anymore, and this was a start. He leans in, smoothing Arthur’s tousled bangs from his face to press a kiss there, before patting his back with a soft hand and heading off to bed himself. 

 

Dawn comes faster than Arthur would have ever wanted it to. He’d forgotten to cover the window with his curtains, and the beams of light pouring over his face stirs him into sitting up. He’s shuffling around, untangling his feet from the sheets and sliding sideways get out of the partially deflated bits of the mattress. Eventually this effort allows him to finally stand. The young man’s head spins and he feels so fragile, like any moment he may fall apart and simply cease to be. It’s familiar, like before but there’s no driven desire to carve up his skin again.   It dawns on him then, literally, that he does not have that broken pain to fight off as he’s had every morning. He does not dread the coming day, nor does he feel the need to hide from him. A nagging voice reminds him that this is not an instant fix or cure, and that he was going to be tempted again. Despite this, despite the concern and worry for that dark future, he feels good in the now.

Grounded in this beautiful, wonderful start. His arms tingle with pins and he thinks it’s time to change his bandages. He sees his vest on the floor, and wonders when he’d removed it. There’s a shrug, his tired mind too sleepy to properly care and he’s shuffling his way into the main room to reach the bathroom by the entrance.   Lance’s tv is on, flickering and playing some typical motorcycle show that Arthur constantly forgot the name of, and the man was casually eating breakfast from a tv dinner table and sipping his coffee. It was… strange to him, seeing his Uncle here in the morning. He’s so used to having the place to himself that he hovers by his door with uncertainty. Does he… greet Lance? Does he ignore the man until spoken to? The anxiety bubbles up in his chest and there it is, rearing it’s ugly head. The need to disperse the anxiety trough pain. He feels sick, already trembling from cold sweats and the need to do something he’s needing to promise not to do.   

“Mornin’ Rascal. Towel and kit are on the tub, shower first to rinse the grime and shit, then do yer arms, yeah?” Lance calls over, glancing up over the back of his lounge chair to acknowledge Arthur. The young man rushes over, placing his trembling hand against the back of the seat and it’s clear enough to Lance what his face is trying to convey that his coffee is out of the way and he’s standing up. They embrace tightly, Arthur quivering as his arms itch something fierce and he just wants to tear it apart.   

“Feeling it now?” Lance asks bluntly, and the sharp nod of Arthur’s head is all he needs to run his palms over Arthur’s back. 

“What brought it on?” But it takes a while, minutes before Arthur’s not shaking anymore, debating on what to lie, what to say until he… simply thinks that if this will work he’s got to make the change. 

  “I didn’t know what to do. I’m always alone in the morning.” He starts with a hitch, but Lance is quiet, patient and waiting. It’s… so new, feeling like Lance is finally showing himself to Arthur for the first time. “I don’t know how to greet you.” His quiet tone concludes, dipping his head like he has nothing further to say and Lance’s hands run down his shoulders again. 

  “It’s okay. It takes time.” Lance answers easily, holding onto Arthur until the young man himself is the one to pull away. Already he feels far better and lighter for it, clutching Lance’s arm before fighting the tremble and becoming solid. The worst of the beast has passed, and the itch is still there to bother him. Arthur looks up into his Uncle’s face, the man clearly concerned but prepared. He’s ready, very ready to swoop in and help him. The corner’s of the younger male’s mouth twitch, and a small smile begins to form over both of their faces.   “Thanks.” 

Lance nods his head carefully, the creases around his eyes all the more apparent as he squeezes Arthur’s shoulder and leans in to kiss his forehead again.   “Did you want me to come with you to help wrap your arms?” He asks with some remaining concern, his hands still tight on Arthur. The young man thinks on it, so relieved that his Uncle would do that for him… but he’s nearly nineteen now. Less than a year and he would be an adult. He would have to learn to live with these new scars he’s made for himself.

  “Thanks Lance, but. I think I can do it.” Arthur assures, nodding his head again before Lance gives a squeeze and releases. Easily, the man leans and returns to sitting into his chair, giving Arthur a final look of confirmation before Arthur grins at him, patting the older man’s shoulder in a returned gesture and taking off towards the bathroom. His arms feel heavy and they throbbed, and Arthur was worried if infection or poor healing was coming in. That wouldn’t help his case very well at all.   He’s opening the door, looking around when he sees exactly as Lance advertised; towel folded on the floor beside the tub with the emergency aid kit sitting on top. Arthur’s mind clicks when he realizes the dark maroon brown shade of the towel, and feels very grateful for the ease in which this could be washed of blood. Quickly he gathers them up, placing the kit onto the toilet seat to open and fetch through. There’s the ointment for wounds and the gauze, so he takes those out along with the tape cutting scissors. Once done, he sets the towel against the lip of the sink, places the gear around the shelving piece and, leans his arms down.

  The prickle is bad, really bothering his right arm and he wonders if he’s forgotten which arm he carved into worse. His mind tells him left but… his body may be saying right? He shakes his head, dwelling on the person in the next room. For Lance. For a new life, remember? For a better… future. The ambition, that strength seems to do the trick and steel his resolve. Carefully he picks at the tape, working to peel it back over the hairs and skin, working from his elbow down until it simply hung from his skin. The small tugs of pain have his head reeling, but he knows he has to see. He must look at it and, realize the consequences.  The prickling persists, having Arthur’s muscles jump a little until finally he bites the bullet, and pulls it out of the way…   There, he can see the nine lines he’s dug in, and the fading red colour of his torn skin and the strange, nearly sensitive pink of the wounds themselves. As Arthur’s eyes water, understanding the marks he’s caused himself to carry, he sees the source of the prickling, the irritation. Black curling lines had begun to form between his cuts like lines written into a notebook. He does cry then, the tears surging over his cheeks and he braces his other arm tightly over the sink.

H-His soulmate… the t-tattoos! Instantly he’s leaning back onto his haunches, trembling and arching his shoulders around his head to hide.  Oh g-gods… he’d forgotten. Forgotten that soul mates can see the marks, scars temporary lines upon their skin before it fades. The one who was meant for him had seen this, on both of their arms. Did they think Arthur nearly dead? What would they assume, eventually? He sobs, cupping his mouth with his bandaged arm and feeling his teeth and open mouth press into it. What has he foolishly done..! What… pain has needlessly inflicted? It takes a while, the control slipping before he sits and turns around to lean against the cold of the sink. It’s a support against his back though he arches into it. Why was he such a fool? Such an idiot? The prickling, after a long time, begins to fade and he realizes that it’s gotten lower on his skin, closer to his final few scars and he cannot help holding it out like it’s a foreign limb to him.   The tattoo slows, solidifying it’s colour and marking his skin with permanence that was never going to fade until it’s creator, it’s bearer passed themselves. He traces over the lines, written so he did not need to use a mirror to read it. He feels his heart clench and his tongue sting from the click of teeth biting into it. 

“As the moon slipped further from the reach of the sun,  
there was a loneliness unbound in the missing dun  
Born the two had yet to meet,  
and would be torn as thus, never to be complete.  
   
Brilliant sun with it’s vast light,   
curled itself in to pay respects for the night  
and give way to the moon’s own rare, undisputed shine  
together, they could build a worship to their unique shrine.” 

It takes so much more out of him than he ever imagined he could possess, tears, bitterness, pain that rested in core from years and years of neglect from his father and the missing persons in his life. This stranger, this completely unknown person cared enough to send this message to him. To ink down the words this other half wished for him to hear. He’s shaking, so brittle and vulnerable, even as he blearily notices the small moon and sun as a header to the words. This, this was too much. He felt like he meant something, to this faceless gesture of kindness.   His Uncle eventually knocks on the door, peering in to find his Nephew in this hysterical, sobering mess and he’s instantly there, gathering the younger man into his arms and sharing this release. Arthur had two reasons to avoid this self harm habit he’d learned, and both kept him close with assurances of a better future. This time, he could believe it, feel it within the worn coggles of his heart that the world was going to be brighter for him. Arthur would surmount this, would better himself and his situation. 

 He would one day thank this person, this other who managed to help save his life.  

 ~*~

He knows what that clatter means, the sudden violence of dish-wear that meant the cook had burned his food again and the colourful swearing in his mother tongue was enough to warn him to keep himself busy in the sink by the back. Lewis is all too familiar with the inner workings of his mother’s restaurant, keeping the store in line and if they are with him, his younger siblings as well. It’s important to keep the kitchen clean and clear all obstacles, making sure food got out on time and maintained the high reputation of their quality and service. Despite being fourth oldest, he still feels like the most adult and mature of his entire family. 

  “Miaro, dos pequiño fritas por favor!” His mother shouts, stuffing the receipt into the line and shuffling around the already made pages to stab them through the metal spoke. The chef shouted back too quickly for Lewis to pay attention to. The young man circled the rag around more tomato sauce and cleared it away, glancing over the white porcelain before lowering it into the rinsing bleach basin. As he does this, his second younger brother Fernando darts around the sink with a soft laugh, and his third younger brother Eldorado charged out behind him. 

  “Can’t catch-“ Fernando cries excitedly, preparing for a jump over the box of dirty dishes to make his escape but instantly Lewis has whipped his sopping hands around and snatched them both up by the collars. Fernando’s red racer shirt drenches with suds and he’s already shouting, unibrow raising up in a mountain. Eldorado shrieks, trying to skid to a stop and escape but Lewis made an underhand strike and caught his collar all the same.   

“Enough!” Lewis barks with an iron will, mulberry eyes blazing over the two as instantly his siblings are calmer, hunched in on themselves and acting the part of victims. “This is Mami’s resto, you will behave!” is the firm reprimand before he’s nearly dragging the two towards the fire exit and with a very practiced hip check shoves the door open and tosses the two out like forgotten trash. Fernando, the eldest, uses his gangly limbs to catch himself and is already gone, running towards the grassy patch of back yard. Eldorado stumbles, almost failing to catch himself before scrapping his palms, and darting up with a leap to chase his brother down.

  “Fernando! Lo siento! Por Favor espera!” Is the last cry before Lewis is dusting off his hands and allowing the door to shut itself. He’s plunging his hands into the sink, grabbing the next baked pepper plate before Nadia is kneeling against the metal basin, arms crossed. Her long, knee length hair has been braided over to one side of her head, rows done in before little hair were pulled out to form her bangs. Her fingers were covered in gold and pearl rings that clicked as she tapped them against her phone before she’s putting it away.   

“Lewis, I need your advice.” She starts immediately, drawing out her nail file and sharpening her thumb nail, which had broken the day before. His head goes through the list, checking to make sure that Nadia should be back here by now, and he realizes that Maria is the one on server duty today. Good. 

  “On what?” His tone is polite but distracted, going over the forks and tossing them into the rinsing basin to take care of things. He’d need someone on drying duty soon. Hmmm. Who was free right now?

  “I want to go to dis party friday night but Mama wants me to take shift. Can you help me convince her?” Nadia pleads softly, her false lashes fluttering as her perfectly glossy lips pucker into a pout. Lewis stares at her like she’s a talking stain, mouth scrunched up in partial disgust and partial shock. Was… Nadia trying to flirt with him?   

“Nadia, I am your birth sibling. Don’t try and hit on me.” He shoots with such worry that Nadia is grinning, her cheeks dusting beneath it’s dark, tanned shade. Lewis can immediately tell that it was what she had been doing. That relayed a very disturbing habit of his sister that his head did NOT want to think about.   

“I’m sorry, but please. Help me convince Mama.” Nadia tries again, cloying her claws together into a praying bunch of sparkles and golden pinks but Lewis is tossing his rag into the muggy water. His finger is extended, ready to scold Nadia for trying to even dare use her looks on him when the eldest sibling bangs through the back, arms braced against the door and staring at Lewis like he’d been claimed the next messiah. Molina heaved in a deep breath, hurriedly walking over and extending her hands like she’s going to grab onto something and break it. Lewis is flipping around, taking a single step back into Nadia who’d already shoved off from the wall to make a break for it. Simple bad timing had Lewis in her grasp, already rattling hard from her shaking hands and he can tell that Molina has yet to sleep this eve, her green eyes flashing above sullen looking bags beneath her still painted eyelids. 

  “Ah-Ah, Lewis! My favourite brother!” Her older voice chitters, leaning a hand up to pet Lewis’ hair like he’d done a good dead. His free hands come up to clasp her shoulders, keeping her at arm’s length away. Like this, she might try and kiss him over the head like he was still four and he didn’t really appreciate that kind of behaviour. He was finally eighteen and he wanted to be treated that way.

  “I thought Mario was your favourite.” Lewis counters quickly, trying to think of an escape route but Molina has her eyes fixed precisely into Lewis’. Damn. She was still lucid enough that he couldn’t use the dried corn as a substitute. Shit. 

  “Lewis, please, baby, honey, I need your help.” Her voice sags for a moment, and then she’s yawning and Lewis takes the perfect chance to remove her one hand.   

“What is it?” He answers quickly, fending off her hand that she continues to pull to herself before forgetting it was removed and trying to pet Lewis’ cheek. “Please, stop.”

  “Lewis, I need you to deliver food, Antonnio already left to go home without telling me again.” Molina pleads, her tired eyes watering and he can see the process of the eye liner beginning to absorb the moisture and become liquid again. Mi muero she needed to stop worrying so much about bills. 

  “Okay Molina, I’ve got it, please. You need rest.” He tries to assure her, a hand grasping her other fist but she’s retreating like she’s been slapped. Her feet scuff the floor and she dips, like keeping balance isn’t in her head before it is and Molina’s bracing herself against the wall.   

“I can’t, the tomatoes are late and Other Mario hasn’t delivered the peppers!” Her voice hitches wildly and Lewis eyes pop wide, fearing she might do something crazy with how she’s hefting her hand but she’s turning like an invisible partner is guiding her in a spin and with that Molina is darting off towards the main office. He’s going to have to tattle to Mama again. It takes him a few moments to calm himself down, worried and curious as he realizes that Nadia is no where to be seen, not even as he peeks his head into the lobby. So much for helping her… With a shrug he empties the sink, letting the filthy water drain as he washes his hands and dries them. Always make sure you have sanitized hands before changing stations.  

With a nod, he’s opening the door, spotting his mom handling the register and the other chef handling the empañadas. He waits, knowing the customer will always come first before she’s drawing out the change and tendering it, turning her head to spot the back and notice Lewis. She smiles softly, turning to point to the paper bag beneath the counter and from here he can see Antonnio’s to do list on it. He nods, she smiles and waves and Lewis is darting quickly behind the counter to scoop it up. He notices his mother place something with a clink onto the counter and he’s easily swiping the car keys before making his way back out the back.   The little Chavette looks no better this week than last week, and he can see that the rust begin to flake off from the corner of the front door. The crack in the back window looks like it’s spread another half inch up but there’s nothing they can do about it yet. Bills come in this weekend and they don’t have payment until the weekend after that. Lewis buckles in, starting the engine as his mind boggles and muses over the bills. He has to talk with Nadia again anyway and tell her to stop using her data so much because it adds another twenty dollars they don’t have to the bill. 

The drive is a relatively familiar one, a simple ten minute thing down the main road beside their house, but Lewis’ mind is a whirl with so many tasks and responsibilities that it feels far longer. In two hours shifts will change, he’ll be off and Mario will be dropped off from dance class. He’s going to have to prepare dinner for all the little ones, and get the pot roast started for the adults when they come home six hours from now. He’s turning a corner with practiced ease, car jumping over the raised concrete entry to his grandfather’s house when his wrists begin to prickle. Pulling the car into park, Lewis is preparing his hand to simply give a light grate to his skin to move forward when there’s a throb in his head and he’s leaning over the seat. 

  “N-No…” He mumbles, feeling a tightness in his eyes and cheeks as he feels the biting nip of the prickles along his left arm again and the pain in his heart covers all else. Not again, please. Quickly, he unfastens the cuffs of his dress shirt and yanks it up, and there he can already see the thin white lines rising up to the surface of his skin.   “Please, stop, oh gods please stop..!” He begs softly, but he can only watch in horror as the gashes get larger, become ragged and the prickling begins on his right arm. “Why, why why why?” Lewis nearly sobs, shaking in his seat and arching his forehead to the steering wheel. The lines rise higher and higher, until he can barely fight the struggle to scratch at the spot below the bend in his elbow. The knowledge of what these lines mean, the agony of them on his body, and struggling to imagine but not to imagine what his other, his soul mate could be going through, is enough to bring him to conflicted tears. 

“How can I help you like this…?” Lewis pleads, and the marks tingle like a gentle stroking touch and it makes him sick. Please, please please please be okay…! Make it through dammit, get out alive! Lewis collapses there, afraid, sad and distraught for his future. This was the third time he’d seen these marks rise up upon his flesh. It’s the third time he’s struggled with the idea that this may be the last thing he ever sees on his skin again. He wishes that his other was someone he knew, someone he could console and support but there’s… no one he can imagine yet to do something like this. If he didn’t have family matters to worry about all the time he might have met someone but….   His mind spins as he cries, holding his arms against his chest so hard like if he clenches it enough he can staunch the other’s wounds. No… Please, please. Please be okay. I want to meet you. I want to know you… Time passes slowly, crawling like sludge through the pipeline of his body. He feels like his world is going dark without the sun… and in his mind, he remembers what his mother used to tell him, about her shared tattoo with her father and that she loved the stars he did, a symbol of their love, even now as it fades. It all seems to click there, his alignment in the sky and those he cares about. 

Yes!   Quickly he starts the car, forgetting his delivery and forgetting all his duties and simply going. He remembers the parlour near his place, the one down the road across the way and he follows all the rules he can to keep himself calm. The agony is unbearable, his chest tight like it wasn’t made to move but he perseveres. He sees the beautifully expensive looking sign for the tattoo parlour and he pulls into the driveway. Parked, keys pocketed and striding confidently, Lewis enters the building, thoughts spinning with ideas. How… can he speak best to this person? To give them value and something worthy… of keeping them alive?   A beautiful woman in a sleeveless blazer walks up to the counter with a soft smile, giving hims gentle wink like it’s just a regular hello. It’s rather sweet, combined with her smooth shoulder long ponytail.   “Hey there handsome. Ready to speak to your Soulmate?” Her smooth, soft voice asks and somehow, the worries in his chest stop clenching so tightly and he can breathe a little. His smile is a small one, hands shaking a little as his mind bounces around how much space is left on his Mom’s credit card and how much he’d stashed away from a personal trip for this. Praying hard and with many mistakes in the words he hopes he can afford this message. 

  “Y-Yeah. How much, for a poem?” 

*~*

Lance is tossing another rag his way, already soaked over with oil from trying to pin this crack down and he’s gruffly frustrated. What should have been a simply 80$ operation had now grown into a full mechanic overhaul that required Arthur to put aside the small projects and invest the afternoon in replacing nearly the entire engine, along with the break pads, rims, exhaust pipes and the coolant system. It was an ugly mess as the car was literally gutted and hacked apart for the work. End of day was half an hour away, and Lance was starting routine clean up so they can easily get started again tomorrow. 

  “Arthur, just toss them all in the bucket out back!” Lance requests gruffly, wiping down his hands and dabbing at the slick over his shoulder and neck. That was a nasty accident. Eck. He grasps another towel and keeps dabbing the oil out of his skin, watching his nephew run out the back with his load and carry along the Alan keys and wrench box to be put away. Smart boy. Lance turns around then, the setting up the pump to remove the rest of the leaking oil and store it for later. Arthur’s back and the two men strong arm the rest of the parts where they need to be, organized by product number before six o’clock chimes and the two of them take a blitz shower to keep clean. Lance is first to remove the oil, so he’s already circulating the shop when he realizes that he hasn’t done groceries yet. With a heavy step he trudges towards the fridge, yanking the handle and there it is, his nearly empty bottle of mayo, some open and hardened sandwich meat bags and a few shrivelled, abandoned pickles.   

“Yeeerrch… time for a night out.” Lance grumbles with no real forethought and shuts the fridge door. Tomorrow. Groceries tomorrow. He’s grabbing his keys, already looking for his jean jacket as he hears his nephew exit the shower.   “Goin’ out! Get yer ass in gear, five!” He yowls again without concern, reaching into his cooler for a club soda and starts to drink it straight. As he’s requested, his Nephew is ready to go in five minutes, long sleeves on and dripping hair spotting his collar and the back of his shoulders. They share a mutual grin, the taller man running his hands through Arthur’s wet hair and unlocking the truck.   

“So, dinner out then?” Arthur chuckles, showing his teeth in a smile for once and Lance grins in return, heaving open his door. Spirit was returning to the young man, and it was wonderful to see light and joy grow from him. 

  “I’m up for some wraps.” Is all Lance says in turn, reaching up to pull himself into his seat and buckle in as his Nephew does the same. The drive is a short one, battling over the radio and shoving at one another lightly with laughs and well timed jokes. The parking lot is tucked behind the building so Lance has a small issue finding it at first, doubling around behind the church and school yard before spotting it behind some trees. Arthur isn’t letting him get away with his oversight until Lance grabs his ear and bends him down with many cries of Uncle and Mercy until he’s released. 

Lance then overhands the wheel to park, getting his huge truck in place before the two hop out and take the back entrance inside. Instantly the aroma of spices hits the two of them full force, and their mouths water at the sight of the cook tossing some pasta out into bowls. Lance signals to the Maître D for some seats, and Arthur glances over to the young man running tables. He finds that he can tell who’s family and who’s hired help based on the fact that half the staff seem to all have mulberry purple hair. He finds it so intriguing, wondering how such a colour was possible before being pulled back to his Uncle’s lead into their booth.   Once seated, the kind waiter dips his head and hands out menus for each to take before pocketing his hands to draw out a pen and pad. 

“Hey guys, thanks for coming to Paradiso. I’m Lewis, and I’ll be serving you this evening. Anything to drink while you think on what you’d like to eat?” Is his friendly, deep question and Arthur finds it rather soothing and maybe a little odd coming from someone he had assumed to be younger.

  “Cerveza for me.” Lance starts, butchering the word beautifully for Arthur to chuckle at, and the man gives him a glare before turning a more polite expression towards Lewis. “And a sprite for the rude gringo.” 

  “Hey! I’ve been legal for three years Uncle, don’t cheap on me.” Arthur chides with a huff, and the older man smirks at him like he’s fully intending to play this game until he’s aware of their patient and probably confused waiter.

  “Alright, that’ll be two beers, please.” Lance amends, and Lewis gives a light chuckle before scratching things down onto his pad.   

“I’ll return with your drinks shortly.” Lewis says with a nod, shifting his pad back into his lapel and bringing out a tray from what seemed like no where before slipping off. Lance is already flipping through the brittle looking pages, scrolling down his chicken section before making his choice.   

“There’s my wrap.” Lance nods with a pleased tone, folding over his menu and glancing over at Arthur who seemed to still be looking. “Seafood’s on the last page.” He offers, and his nephew grins with delight as he goes to see. His Uncle knew him all too well. It’s then that the waiter returns, placing down their drinks onto cup holders that Arthur notices that he’s got some ink on his wrists. What a coincidence, it seemed, and though he tried to get a better look Lewis had already drawn his hands back to get his pad again.   

“Is everyone decided?” The man asks, and his charm is refreshing enough that Lance chuckles from it and draws his menu over.

  “Yeah, though I can’t pronounce this for shit and I’m not interested in further butchering your native tongue.” He chuckled lightly, pointing at his choice as Lewis leaned in to read it, nod, and write it down. 

  “Ahhh, El Pollo y Aguana. Good choice sir.” Lewis peppers politely, offering his hand to take the menu and stuff it beneath his arm. He’s leaning in then, looking at Arthur and smiling politely. “For yourself?” 

“I’ll have the seafood Linguini, I’m not too picky.” Arthur offers up, folding his menu and holding it out for Lewis to take. The man reaches out with the same right hand and as he grasps the folds Arthur has full view of the tattoo on the man’s wrist. The sight of it, the familiar looping shape locks his mind down and there’s an awkward moment when Lewis tugs on the menu again and it’s not being released that he clears his throat. 

Arthur jumps, letting go and Lewis’ eyes avoid contact, feeling embarrassed and Lance is giving him a curious look but Arthur’s swallowing another lump in his throat before shaking his head and holding up his arm to point at it.   “I-It’s you…” His voice cracks horribly and Lewis dips like he’s bowing to them to leave and Arthur has to speak now, damnit, man up! It’s just, too close, too coincidental not to be. “Y-You’re the sun…” And Lance looks all the more confused for what the heck his nephew just spat out but Lewis… his face looks so open and vulnerable that it takes him a few seconds to realize just what Arthur had said, eyeing him suspiciously before he tucks his wrist bands and sleeve up to show the poem on his forearm, and Lewis drops the menus without even flinching.   “My poem…” His soft, tumultuous voice asks, Arthur bobs his head as he begins to recite it out loud.  

“As the moon slipped further from the reach of the sun…” his soft voice carries, and Lewis doesn’t even need to look at his arm to read the next line. 

“There was a loneliness unbound in the missing dun.” And his face broke out into a bright, breaking smile that coloured his eyes and Arthur felt like he was staring into diamonds with how beautiful they seemed. This man, was his soulmate. The one who reached out and kept him going, his other half.   

“I-I can’t-“ Arthur starts, laughing and hunching forward as the denial built. This was too lucky, to coincidental for it to happen so simply like this. Nothing this good could ever have happened to a guy like him! 

“This is some crazy coincidence.” Lewis chuckles, leaning against the table to brace his weight as the reality of what was happening began to settle around his shoulders. Three years ago, the tattoo he had gotten finally resurfaced on the skin of the one he had been promised from birth. His outcry had finally resonated back. “I-I can’t believe, that I would find you in my mother’s restaurant..!” And he laughs, more loudly and jovial with the joy of seeing his other half at last. The man seemed near his age, though worn and his hands bore stains like his Uncle, who was more familiar face. He must be a mechanic too. His mind wants to digest who this person is all at once but he cannot focus enough to keep it going.  

“Y-Yeah, It’s just…” He doesn’t even know what to say, so overwhelmed all at once. Lewis was handsome, olive skinned and tall as sin with firm shoulders and a proud stance, even leaning. How… was he ever going to compare to that? His mind spins, fighting the negativity with the joy of finally finding the missing piece. He can’t believe, at 22 that he’s been so unfortunate up until this time for the turning point to be the love of his life. Lewis is still smiling, laughter bubbling up and he won’t control it, can’t as he holds his hands out to hold Arthur’s hand and Arthur reaches for it before being pulled up to stand. 

  “C-Can I hug you?” Lewis asks with unbridled excitement, wanting desperately to hold onto this other man, but he worries he may be going too fast. He never realized that there would be some form of decorum or a particular way he should be greeting this situation. It’s never crossed his mind to ask before. 

  “Y-Yeah.” Is all Arthur can reply, feeling so choked up and stupid for not knowing what to do, but it seems okay as he opens his arms and Lewis rushes in to hug him tightly, like family meeting for the first time. He’s still so overcome, disbelieving that this person was the one chosen for him and that this kind soul would be so excited for something so scrawny like he was, but he tightened his arms around the other man and felt the warmth radiating from him. This… person was meant for him.

  “Lewis, este trabaha, si?” An older woman calls to him, walking over with heavy steps and Arthur flinches with worry at the harshness of her voice. Ah, maybe his mother? The taller man lifts his head and releases Arthur to step aside, and he can see that Lewis is in tears, overcome by emotion to the point where this woman seems taken aback herself. He speaks quickly, softly and Arthur can barely keep track of the fluent language this other man is speaking before the woman cooes softly and rushes in to gather the two of them into a big piled hug that squeezes Arthur all too tightly. He struggles to breath for just a few heart beats before the two are released and a soppy kiss is placed on Arthur’s face.   

“H-Haha, thank you, Ma’am..!” Arthur spits nervously, and she says something back to him before petting his head and shuffling off to the kitchen with excited cries that had the cooks and waiters all turn to look and smile at him. All this attention is beginning to make him sick but… looking over at Lewis who’s trying to clean his face on his sleeve and is still laughing softly to himself… he can use it all to squash down the ugliness within himself. 

  “Dios Mio…” Lewis murmurs, gathering Arthur into another hug and it’s then he spots Lance, looking away pointedly but there’s some dusting on his cheeks and Arthur realizes that the man is not only giving them space but is trying to retain his composure. He… thinks that’s so sweet and he’s probably going to have a celebration of his own later that night. The thought is wonderful as Lewis stands back, placing his hands on Arthur’s shoulders and hiccups another laugh.

  “Sorry for being so messy, I just- Never thought I’d get to see you, and this, is all I could ever have asked for.” Stumbling, uncertain but genuine, his voice carries far too much in it that Arthur realizes a little more to what this man is saying. His scars, he’s seen them in such a shocking way, and every day he must have wondered if those marks would appear again. Arthur’s heart nearly breaks in two, and he rushes the man into a tight hug, the third today as he’s overcome himself. 

  “I-I made it…” Is all he can murmur, and Lewis holds him tight and rubs his back as they share another intimate moment in the middle of a family restaurant. It’s hilarious, it’s embarrassing, it’s sudden, it’s perfect.   Lewis gets the rest of the shift off, being invited by Lance to sit with them as they talk and share lunch. Lance mostly supplies answers when Arthur gets too choked up to do it himself, and though they are supposed to be mated for life, it’s like being asked out for the first time by somebody you don’t know. It’s still a stranger, someone you need to get to know before you can get any further and that’s okay. As Lewis shares stories about his many, many siblings and Arthur talks about his life with his Uncle at the shop, they eventually work up the courage to hook their pinkies together beneath the table top.   Eventually, their plates go cold and the sauce dries into hard marks along the inside to mark the passing time. Despite the desire to stay together now and never part is strong, reality sets in and Lance needs to get back to the shop. The bill is then paid, and Lance offers to wait in the truck as Lewis and he are given a moment alone in the cubby for an exit. 

He looks up into the man’s eyes, still so startled by their beauty and the handsomeness of this man’s face and the symmetry in it. He’s gorgeous and perfect, and though his mind lists all his little headless flaws Lewis is admiring all his perfections.   He’s looking over the peculiar eyebrows and how they really emphasize the man’s expressions, and how his thin face seems all the more round from his sideburns, and the lush molten amber of his eyes draws Lewis in like never before. His soulmate, this person was his, all his and he could romanticize them until the day they died…. 

  “I’m so… happy, that today happened as it did.” Lewis starts off, grabbing Arthur’s hands into his own and leaning down to kiss along his knuckles. The gesture is so foreign and charming that his cheeks light red and he swallows nervously, looking up through his lashes at the taller man before him and in return he receives a warm, pleased smile.

  “M-Me too… I’m still, heh, reeling from it.” Arthur manages through a thick throat, not wanting to tear up again over something so stupid as some gentle kisses to his hands, damnit. 

“So am I.” He agrees, nodding his head and noticing the angle of Arthur’s face and thinking… this is it. Maybe… it’s too fast for the other man, he himself feeling so strange that it’s a man who’s been selected as his other half and deciding maybe he should keep it relatively decent, for now. He does lift a hand to run up into Arthur’s hair, and the man trembles from the touch.   Was Lewis going to kiss him? Now? So soon? He’s reeling, not sure if he’d even like that or how he’d react but instead he receives a gentle press of the lips to his forehead, and that was certainly enough for him. 

  “Thank you.” Lewis whispers softly, looking down into Arthur’s eyes with such an intimate smile that Arthur’s heart gave a galloping pump and he felt his knees go a little shaky. Wow, just for that? For shame, mr Kingsmen… 

  “Y-You’re welcome.” He manages to say between the nervous lumps in his throat, and he can hear Lance turn on the radio loudly in the truck. Lewis seems to get the idea and releases Arthur with a single pat to his shoulder before waving and stepping back. 

“See me soon?” He asks softly, and Arthur nods his head before giving a docile wave, turning a little before thinking on it and dashing up to Lewis for a quick kiss to his cheek and darts back towards the truck. Behind him, Lewis is dumbstruck by the action and curls a hand to his cheek, melting a little on the spot. Arthur, huh… His, soulmate. The warmth in his chest stays even as the truck pulls out, and Arthur waves at him from the passenger seat before they drive off.   It’s there as he dwells on this afternoon, both hearts in sync and thinking to what the future could hold for them both. A new relationship to found and build, someone to care for and love… Arthur looks down to his tattoo and his scars, tracing them with such affection and love. Lewis… oh how he was excited to speak to the man over the phone and learn all he can-  It’s then that Arthur’s heart seizes and he demands Lance stop the truck.

  “Good blazes boy-“ Lance starts, nearly having a heart attack as his nephew looks truly panicked and pale, but his nephew answers for him.

  “I forgot to ask for his phone number!”


End file.
